


Human Thing

by Dissipating_Mango



Series: zadr ficlets [9]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Choking, Dib is implied to be into some nasty stuff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Kissing, There's a lot implied but nothing explicit, Unresolved Sexual Tension, pak fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissipating_Mango/pseuds/Dissipating_Mango
Summary: A short moment between enemies after skool
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Series: zadr ficlets [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543489
Comments: 8
Kudos: 96





	Human Thing

"You don't get it"

"HA! Foolish boy, Zim knows everything!" 

"Shut up," Dib growled. Pulling on the weird collar who made collars like this anyway except aliens he jostled Zim nearer, closer. Too close for comfort. His skin was like lava in the way it was beautiful and dangerous, and should never be this close to a human face. 

"Shut the fuck up." 

Zim's words fell into a breath of nothingness. Jesus, even his silence was dramatic and gaudy.

"Shut up..." Dib repeated. Zim wasn't even talking, neither of them were; his demand was about as necessary as a splint on a healthy leg. He bit his lip as if hurting himself would somehow make the fire go away.

It never did before. 

He slammed the little alien into the brick wall; a good insulator, humans have been building schools with it for god only knows how long. It's scratchy in just the way that when the baked rock drags against his knuckles, his pulse rockets. 

Fuck, Zim looks positively devourable. 

Double flinch as the metal of his PAK _scrapes_ , high pitched and eerie. Gasping for breath, pink gummy teeth that Dib knows a little too well, exhibit themselves. Not quite human, not quite animal, his body was entirely unique. What he'd give to lay that body on the table, cold and lifeless; sliced flesh, open cavities, final evidence. Imagery beyond his wildest dreams, and settled neatly among his most favorable. Blue gloves stained pink with viscera. 

"I wanna know what you look like," Dib muttered. "When you aren't breathing." 

Hands around his neck were easy. _Far_ too easy. The choking, struggling breath Zim delivered like it was his duty, was positively _melodic_. 

"I'm gonna cut you open someday and show everybody your insides." Hands off when the gloved claws dig into his wrists. He doesn't need more scars there. Voice dropping like bags of sand, Dib wet his lips. "Do you know what I'd do to your body when no one else was around?"

Taboos vary from culture to culture, Dib knows this, he knows it well. He could recite to you the precise and technical legality of what he does and thinks about after sunset like it was constitutional. Irkens and humans didn't seem to have the same lust for life, ergo, some things must be more usual than others. Maybe that's why Zim wasn't phased when he spoke in such stimulating tones of something so grim. 

"You won't be laying a finger on Zim's superior body," he sneered. Fake purple irises, now that just won't do. Mockingly, Dib shoved the very appendage he declared would never make contact with him directly on his cornea, peeling the lense out and dropping it. Pink was really so much better. 

"Filthy." The word was spat, not said. 

Gripping between those thindly legs was fruitless, Dib knew that. He tried, years ago, pantsing the space bug and feeling the underwhelming disappointment of the answer. Diagrams, some more scientific in nature than others, were torn and crumpled up that evening. What a waste of time theorizing and raising his expectations. Left hand hovering over the hilt of his pocket knife no that's too far isn't it? He had perfectly good thighs, squeezed together right, that could probably be enough. 

Too much for today though, he had to warm Zim up first. Soak the slimy frog in balmy soup, watching his fight perish like condensation dripping down a glass lid. This was a recipe for disaster.

"I'm showing you a human thing," Dib muttered before the impact of his lips made Zim whine harder than the intimacy of it. Smacking, horrible, violent. Their lips weren't fighting clean, this was a broken bottle jabbing soft bits in a dark alley. Alien blood was gross, strangely plastic flavored. Oily. Was there anything to not be repulsed by? For a boy like Dib, repulsion was three-quarters the foreplay.

Squishing, wet slides of Zim's tongue poking around and under Dib's tasted like sunlight in his mouth. 

"What is the purpose of this revolting act?" Zim gagged, tongue hanging out his mouth in disgust. 

Dib blinked and caught his breath, amber eyes boring holes in dubiously sparkling ones. "You like it." Zim's face was neatly framed with pale hands bearing fingernails painted black to hide the grit. To hide whatever else may be stained under them that smelled so distinctly of formaldehyde. Of course he was practicing. "You're gonna learn to love it."

A scoff. "Zim loves nothing." 

It always had to be fighting with them, both struggling to get away but Dib never releasing his lips from Zim's. A tousle, he fought to stay as much as he fought to leave. Fingers danced along the metal lining around his PAK, rubbing, sending jolts through his fingertips. They walked up higher, to the glowing pink doors that dirty nails pried open with more ease than he expected.

"Do-n't dO _tha_ -at!" Zim's voice was broken and glitchy, probably on account of Dib fondling the closest thing he had to a brain pretty roughly. The inside was cold, empty feeling like an unused crawlspace, he dug a little deeper and felt thin metal tightly packed together like folding chairs. He tried yanking, but to no avail.

Hooking two fingers around the edge made Zim gasp, momentarily leaning his head against Dib's shoulder as his knees buckled. Was this an erogenous zone? Zim snapped away just as quick, his head slammed against brick.

Dib changed tactics, elbowing him right in his weak spot along his belly and spun him around. Pinned by Dib's hips against the wall, Zim squirmed like a spider caught in a cup and Dib had tweezers at the ready for each of his eight legs. Back and forth, he wiggled in his struggles; there was no way Zim didn't feel Dib. Maybe he didn't know what it meant. Maybe he didn't care. It made Dib ridiculously giddy though. Impulsive. 

He shoved his whole hand inside. Strange wires curled around his fingers, leading him somewhere. He let the wires pull him in, taking him to what felt like a of series of buttons. Zim gasped and pressed his body against Dib. 

"What're these for?" 

"Y-you SHouldn't be t-t-touching tHAt," Zim scowled. "It thinks YOu're do-ing a c- _alibration_ che-ck-ck." 

Dib hummed, rubbing some of the wires between his fingers. "Is that why you haven't stabbed me yet? It perceives me as benign and won't let you?" Zim whined when his fingers brushed something else. "Or," Dib smirked. "Is it 'cause it feels good?" 

"Get y-y-your filthy hAnds out of my P-AK!" 

Dib raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you'd like the alternative." He bent low, running his fingers along the edges of those metal holes and eating up the way Zim shivered. "I could put something else in there. Make you _really_ filthy." 

Not today though, not today. Grey clouds rolled in as if the sun was sick of watching them, thatching stormy roofing over their heads. Dib pressed his lips to the back of Zim's head. Squeezing, crawling, the wires curled around his fingers like morning glories. Turned him around again. 

Much too complacent for this to be torture, Zim had to be getting something out of it too. 

Mouth to mouth, oh it was a _special_ kind of agony. Dib would never know what a human mouth against his own would feel like but it probably couldn't compare in the slightest. Tongue running lines across zipper teeth, he sucked on Zim's bottom lip. Lapping up the pink from where he was bit was easy. Tugging, _violent_ pulling on those itty bitty wires behind Zim's back, he whimpered. Little zaps tapped along merciless palms. 

"I wonder how long it would take to scrape me out of there," Dib said. Panted, more accurately. 

It'd be so easy to unbuckle his belt, so easy to take. But he couldn't, he wasn't ripe yet; too firm, too green, not tender enough to harvest. Harvest. The word brought ghastly pictures to Dib's mind that made him throb in anticipation.

And then, just as the dreary preview warned them, it started to rain. Short, calm pitter patters, washing them in gentle sounds. A final kiss and Dib slunk away, leaving Zim frazzled and leaned against the wall. His lips were purple, tongue poking out to clean himself of blood. 

"What was that for?" 

Dib shrugged, turning around just enough to answer. "I thought you knew everything." 


End file.
